I promise, when you listen to our recording as a whole you will be inspired and empowered, but

Here for now, is the terrible truth of the Ancient image of humanity…

(sound track below)

Within the bleak dark of hopelessness you may find the strength to become a hero. Once, Twice, Thrice you must rise above the world-ending curse of Zeus’ rage, for here only is your chance; will you again raise above the natural pre-ordained order of total despair which is the lot of the mortal to become ever-remembered, ever-vibrant through your inspiring deeds or will you too be stretched from the sky for your audacity to care. When the very sinuous are ripped from you there will be just your true heart-felt determination remaining, and the sound of the Goat God Pan’s freezing scream – will you rise again and yet again, or shall you twitter near-dead forever like a lost bird searching for the drip of the blood of another’s suffering to echo down your parched hopeless throat. I ask only once more; could you be a hero?

There is a happenstance to our choices. We do the wrong things sometimes. We hope things will be better. All I know is, I dont know how to draw.

Today I did this.

Destiny leads us where we go, (sometimes).

I am two weeks late with an invoice.

There are a pile of letters requesting books and CDs.

I haven’t looked at my travel details or even worked out if I can get there tomorrow. A room full of blind children are waiting for me to encapture them with stories. (I will probably come up with the right thing).

The things you wish for are inside you I think. So many times I find that the thing which I do is the thing which is needed in the end. The universe and all that.

For you who doubt, I say this, I will report back in a month or so and see if what I did today led to anything fulfilling (what earned me money I mean).

I do know that the few wise words of a couple of friends led me to ‘waste’ my day doing what I just done.

(Do you think the museum will wait for the invoice btw?)

And that I have intrigued a couple of real good freinds with my ‘cheat’.

I do not draw.

I am not an artist.

Today I went on a journey.

Where will it lead?

Here are the steps I made today.

I havent paid the rent (as yet) I wonder what you did today…

Shambles

See I said I couldn’t drawGrey Swans – facing the other wayBlack SwansThe Wild HuntLife is this – Shambles

Each line here will be a text box and you will do a picture for it; acrylics, digital, photo of a sculpture, real world picture, inked, leather work, collage, weaving, stuff.

(I have created initial artwork (of a sorts) and now ask that you replace it – and this will progress / evolve as the tour progresses)

This follow up to The Hammer Flies is a collaborative graphic novel for online display and as a presentation on screen at festivals and museums across much of the Viking lands.

We at Viking Comics Inc. are creating our amazing Graphic Novel presentation The Horned God and the Wild Hunt and the proposed script is below. We are looking for artist contributors now!

We will be creating an installation for large screen presentation and download for Markets, Festivals and Museums.(We will chat through what is needed and how it all works and then leave it up to you to interpret)

For the Horned God rides

(Neanderthal Camp etc)

Ana Maus

For the horned god rides
“We must be about our way,” speaks King Georg
“To out ships and to our home”

No
For I must cast the bones

I see a great wyrm-beast that winds and devours. It is coming down through the hills to destroy

To destroy our kin
Then we must a-home at speed

“Come back! There is more.

It is not our home where death is at its worst.
They will be safe enough in the cold till our ships return.

“a Dragoon!” [need to look this up, it turns man-like]
“Bone Head fought it single-handedly.”
“It fled with want of limb”
“There was a great feast.”
“They slept well (despite the distant sound of wailing pain)”
“The very walls of the hall were burst apart”
“The creature’s father!”
“Bone Head was swept aside to fall as dead.”
“This enormous creature devoured each warrior.”
“One by one”
“They were devoured”
“Beheaded”
“Snapped”

“Halved”

“Till all that could fight were laid as limbs”
“Roaring it ran”
“Last seen”
“Diving down the great falls with son in arm,”

“Swimming across the sea to other, safer, lands to heal.”
“When Bone Head awoke all there was left was stench and slime and death”
“and the battered poor”
“More death will come – the winding beast”

“One ship”
“Our best warriors”
“and you!”
“The outside watcher. Ready yourself for you must go” [it could have the faces of everyone involved]

A great wyrm-like trail bursts out of the waters and howling, baying, blowing, hunts – across the very sea

The Horned God creates a path of ice as they hurtle on

The Horned God creates a path of ice as they hurtle on

Arrows, spears are flying down

Arrows, spears are flying down

The great leviathan

The great leviathon

The monstrous beast it leaps

The monstrous beast it leaps

Swallowing the hunt

Swallowing the hunt

They burst out and hurry on

They burst out and hurry on

The Jarl on guard alone looks down and sees a sail
“Hail”
The band disembark
“Such a small force as this”

Such a small force as this

The fire-wyrm comes

Villagers run and hide
Jarl and Georg’s fighters stand and face
“They are but men”
“On horses, carrying torches!”

“Naked but for red paint and skull of bird” (Jodie Hazel)
The vast horde leaps the stockade.

T’or Eric falls
Simen fights to death

Kennet runs through them; killing, dyingJarl again is knocked from feet, to fall in well

Lars Magnar knocks a red one from horse and rides to fight a while
Vigdis and Jeppe feel spears as their spears pierce

Bruni is felled from behind
Egil and Vibeke cut a swathe almost to the rear

“And that leaves you”

Then a darkness fills the sky

Then a darkness fills the sky

The Horned God

The Horned God

The Wild Hunt fly

The Wild Hunt fly

And all will die…

You take up arms and valiant join your god in mighty, fighting, death

Till none are left alive

What will you do?

Will you and your warriors join the hunt?

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Or will you send the red ones to be part of the forever hunt?

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Will you follow the Horned God to Valhal? To feast till Ragnarok

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Whichever way you choose, the village is saved

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And they will build again

[Guidelines]

[credits]

All artists will be credited for their work and links placed as requested.

All art remains the property of the creator and although use of these peices is kindly donated, if profits are made from future publication they will be shared proportionately.

These are the Viking Experiences which led to the creation of Viking Comics Inc.

The recent Viking-related experiences of Adrian Spendlow and team member Chloë Anderson…
As Personal Skald to the Chieftain for Viking Valley, Gudvangen in Norway I am known for multi-national stories with participants speaking in as many as twenty languages. Storytelling courses, including at Lygra and Gudvangen markets are always an uplifting experience and I have performed at several Scandinavian events for Vikings, tourists and children. Story circles for children and young adults usually also draw out the child within the adult too.
I was recently very honoured to be tour guide for a week in York for students of the famous Seljord Folkehøgskule and am often asked to coordinate visits.
My opening speech for Gudvangen Market was filmed for Norwegian TV, and at Njardar Vikinglag’s Jolablot I did a story presentation for Belgian TV. As part of our campaign to win the right to build a Viking town I was portrayed across all Norwegian media, I also hosted Viking Rock Festival.
My double CD Andvari’s Gold is for sale on jelldragon.com the foremost online shopping site for Vikings, I also narrated Jorvik: York and the Vikings CD as part of the Spendlow’s York history series, which is also for sale on jelldragon.com
I am very proud to be a member of Njardar Vikinglag, Bjørgvin Vikinglag and an honorary member of the University of York Medieval Society’s Vanaheim Vikings group.
As a full-time storyteller, actor and poet I frequently working to commission (See general CV in links), as a result I have worked as poet in residence for many places including the Jorvik Viking centre.
The York Museum Trust, the York Archaeological Trust and the Jorvik Group for such as the Jorvik Viking Centre, Barley Hall and the Jorvik Viking Festival are among the many establishments that often use my skills.
Recent invitations include Borre Market and the thousandth anniversary of the gathering at Sarpsborg, and to create dramatised stories involving the audience which then lead into staged battles by a trained crew. I was surprised while compiling this to see just how widely travelled and how lucky to be part of the Viking world.
As a blogger I frequently write on the topics of Vikings, History, Storytelling, Poetry and even Viking cooking. As part of my blog I set up Viking Comics Inc. with Chloë Anderson and our first presentation features the work of some 18 artists; The Hammer Flies was very well received. This came about following a Jorvik Group commission which involved presenting Viking stories in the form of Comic book heroes: an especially written Viking Comic book display and the children’s resultant story formed a comic book display throughout the Jorvik Viking Festival venue.
As project manager for community work I have worked many times with Chloë Anderson mixing music, drama, storytelling, dance, reminiscence, on-screen presentations and publications. We recently created a ‘Spendlow’s TV’ series for sale as a download presentation. Chloë Anderson and I are currently working on a panoramic story and image download which will be available online this year based on the themes of a boat burial, Rolo in France, the different views of Viking afterlife, stories for the Viking world and the Ragnar clan in Valhalla. We are currently in discussion to create walks around fjords where you add to the story and accompanying arts as you go.
Our next Viking Comics Inc. will be a Graphic Novel presentation on the theme of The Horned God and the Wild Hunt. The theme for this and the draft script form the basis of our presentation to Follow The Vikings.

My Haunted House – an autobiographical novella inspired by It Happened To Me featured in the amazing Fortean Times.

I saw the shadows straight away, if shadows they are, as soon as I settled into the apartment; weaving along the book shelves under the stairs and across the top of the TV.

Something which should not be there but was, or rather, an absence of what should be there which is replaced not by a shadowy shape as such but with a very dark nothingness. It is as if creatures have lived here and didn’t want to leave, as their memory of being alive fades all that remains is where they were. It was something like that anyway, and after a while it settled down as if they had got used to me.

They do reoccur at times; when there are disturbances or new visitors or when the shopkeeper is agitated, but more of him later.

I had felt shivers on the stairs and occasionally a feeling of being crowded as well as the shelves by the door rattling sometimes and even losing a few of the contents to the floor. I didn’t think too much of it at the time.

Not the actual shelf unit

Then the project came in, three of us working together, Gramey at the computer, Helen and I at the table building the display incorporating his printed designs. At one point in the late afternoon I moved over to the settee of my one downstairs room to sit and write up a fee ideas. After a while Helen looked up and said, “Is your cat alright going out?” I haven’t got a cat and I told her so. “Yes it just got up from in front of the telly, its a funny looking thing, and wandered out of the door.”

I looked up as she pointed at the door, which was shut and indeed locked. “The door is locked and anyway I haven’t got a cat.” – “Yes you do,” came the reply, this time from Gramey over in the corner, “it has been laid on the mat all afternoon.” I haven’t got a mat.,

Not long after this I went along to the local spiritualists centre as they had a medium on, and I got a message. Among other things which he told me connected to my family, he also said that the house I had moved into was full of ghosts. They were everywhere, (he looked a little confused for a second), it is a portal to the world of spirit, no, spirits come and go through this door.

I was a little perturbed at the idea and mentioned my feelings to a friend over the tea and biscuits. She gathered a group around me. We had been talking for a while about having get togethers where we developed our own spiritual abilities, it was decided they all wanted to ‘meet’ my ghosts so the first session should be at my place.

All of them were my age or older except for one younger woman of around twenty eight. We nattered over coffee and cake and then I asked if we were all ready for getting started. They all wondered how we should go about things, I suggested we kicked things off by going round them Pom saying what we wanted to explore. They thought I should go first so I said I wanted to find out more about my spirits and their portal. That was it, no more suggestions came forward, as they all wanted to get stuck into this job. Our evening was shaped; we meditated, we called upon our loved ones and guides to aid and protect us. Then the messages and images started flowing. One lady picked up on the shadow beings and described them in more detail, she detected a few distinct types, another felt airy fluttering in one corner and connected with light bright colour, another saw a flowing S shape hanging near the stair rail, and yes, you guessed it, a cat upon the mat.

More came from around the circle, at least one more cat on the stairs, a man in the centre rubbing his hands, a door through to the next door apartment (where my shelves are), cages here and there, and a few mealy smells like grains or seeds or some such. There was also mention of a feeling of being crowded and large creatures waiting to move through the wall. That one wasn’t solved on this particular evening but I picked up on the man too, I described him as being attentive as if waiting to see what we wanted, he had a large white old fashioned handlebar mustache and a short grey overall coat.

It was then that the younger one of us spoke up. She remembered visiting this place many times as a child. She came here with her parents to buy hamster food, it had been a pet shop. I was intrigued at the idea that the younger person among us was the one with the memories which verified our ‘messages’. Us older ones are more used to being the ones with recollections of how things used to be.

“The bird cages were over there,” she pointed near the window where the airy flutterings were detected, the empty shadows were where the reptiles, snakes and spiders resided, there was a door through to next door as that was the aquarium shop; this door was where my shelf unit stood – the portal had been discovered.

She went on to match up the shop details to our memories, the wavy S shape was the tail of a chinchilla which perched up near the stairs and our descriptions of the shopkeeper match exactly to her memory.

People react unexpected ways when having such encounters and it turned out shopkeeper had been seen before. When I told Helen all about my spooky evening she said, “Ah yes, that’s the man I saw.” she hadn’t mentioned it at the time so I asked further, it was the day of the cat, he was in the kitchen, but she had only seen him through a gap in the cupboards when she had been sat at the computer. He had looked through at her as if wondering why she was there, but when she had stepped around the cupboards there was no one there, “You could only see him through the gap.”

I think the crowded feeling has been solved now, I hadn’t said anything about my experiences to the others in the mews, but my other neighbour at the time mentioned one day that he wakes up with a feeling his face is wet as if splashed. Not long after this I chatted to an old guy who does the maintenance. Before my place had been a pet shop, and my left hand neighbours the aquariums, they had been cow byres.

The craft shop down on the main street had been a butchers and the cattle were brought up the mews to our places. This I think is the reason for the crowded sensation I sometimes feel. He went on to say that there was a doorway in my right hand wall and the cattle were led through there to slaughter. The other buildings between there and the shop were for butchering and storage.

I believe that I feel these creatures presence when they are nearing the time of transfer to their final destination, one at a time through the doorway. I then had a chilling thought; the wet splashing – that is the blood of the ghostly cattle as they re-echo their moment of dying. I haven’t told my current neighbours.

I do have a cat, I brought her with me from my old house; Fluffy – well the spirit of Fluffy.

We was a lovely cat and she adored me. She was a large chocolate brown with golden fleck. She never went out of the house, she was a rescue cat and my niece turned up with her for me. The RSPCA had her since she was found in a cupboard. Someone had moved out and locked her and her kitten in a small dark space with a pile of cat food. Six weeks it was till someone else moved in – and Fluffy was still alive, but only just. When she was brought to me she ran upstairs to the attic and hid under a bed. She would sneak down in the night and eat and use her tray; three months she lived like this, then one morning I saw her creeping round the corner of the loving room. She never went up to my attic bedroom again, well except on a few special occasions. If anything ever went wrong in my life, a loss or a sudden shock she could tell I was down. When it neared time that I was thinking of going to bed she would go and sit at the bottom of the stairs. As I approached she ran to half way up, and as she ran it was as if her mew box would rattle, ‘mewmewmewmewmew’. I would catch her up, she would run to the top, and so on all the way to the attic. She would stand by the door till I was in bed, then she would climb up onto my chest, but only for a minute or so, then she would meow and go out the door.

Obviously I was very sad when she passed away. Only a month later something went badly wrong in life and I took myself to bed feeling down. As soon as I lay down I heard, ‘mewmewmewmewmew’ and then a pressure on my chest, only for a minute or so.

After I moved I cycled past my old home and I got the overwhelming feeling that Fluffy was looking for me. I called to her and I am sure she followed me home.

Recently there was another calamity in my life and as I flopped into bed I heard the familiar sound, ‘mewmewmewmewmew’ and then a pressure on my chest.

Fluffy is still with me.

So are my Bambi Angels.

I was invited to visit another spiritualist centre, this one was out in the sticks. A couple with a farm decided to build a church in their garden and, wow, people came from far and wide.

Sam took me along there to a development evening. It was a lovely friendly place and soon we gathered in a comfortable circle. As we were settling a late comer arrived; a very large man in really oily clothing came in and pulled up a chair. We started a guided journey then after a few minutes the facilitator said, “I am really sorry, I would never normally stop a meditation once it has started but you really do need to close your eyes”,.she was looking at oily man. He spoke in an incredibly deep gruff voice and explained that he always worked with his eyes open and then froze with palms open and eyes fixed ahead. As we continued I could not resist the odd peek as did everyone around the circle.

When the session drew to a close I was getting up to find a coffee when suddenly the dark oily figure was looming over, great big eyes bearing down into my chair, “You have spirits all around you,” boomed the gravely voice, “but not in the form of people who you have met, they are little animals, baby deer, bunnies, dormice, baby goats. Do you have a connection to animals?” I said that I didn’t especially (not counting my ghostly pet shop pals). There was a thoughtful stare, then, “Ah, they are cartoon animals, like Disney; Bambi and that.”

I think he saw my doubtful look, as, after a pause he went on to explain, these were ancient spirits, they had been gone so long no one would recognise their former earthly form so they could take any shape they pleased. I need their lightness and playfulness to stop me being negative.

Now, to summarise, I am surrounded at home by three lots of creatures, Fluffy, the pet shop boys and girls, and my Bambi Angels.

Do not be thinking it’s all about animals, there is the shop keeper yes, but there is a regal lady to, although she is an occasional caller.

The honorable Lady Joan of Barley Hall no less, our Lady Mayor of long ago.

I was doing a series of storytelling sessions at York’s celebrated, rebuilt, medieval hall and had been including tales told to me of hauntings there. I was readying myself to be on my way to work and thinking what material to use when I had a sudden wish to look in my crystal ball. It would mean I would miss my bus but I just had to do it. Straight away I saw a tall elegant lady, (not your standard beauty perhaps but incredibly alluring), I hadn’t been thinking of her but I immediately said, “Lady Joan!” Then the voice filled my mind, “It is all green. I used to have colour.” An image of the long table appeared, then centred upon two tall jugs with thin handles, they had stripes down of slim bright colour.

I put the ball down and rushed to work. I told the staff all about this, none of them had seen such pottery, then a quiet voice in the corner invited us to look at her recent purchase. She had visited a museum in Attick and bought the guide book. It had a pictorial section of Barley Hall when it was first opened. There on the table were the jugs I had described. It turned out later one had been broken so the other was put away. If you go in there now you will see it out on the long table.

That night when I got in I thought, I must write this story. For the sake of a bit of drama I held the name back till the end of the story. As I wrote, ‘It was Lady Joan,’ all the contents of my shelves by the door emptied out across the room.

That was the event which prompted me to encourage them to get that jug out of store.

I mentioned the chills on the stairs earlier and problems were accelerating. I came home recently and I had left the lights on and the door curtain open. As I was about to unlock the door I saw a shape under the table. It was a nothing. A snake was out of its cage. By I had the door open it had dissipated, I stood wondering and another bunch of things fell off my craft shelves and hit me in the back.

My nights were to become restless, as well as the increasing chills, I started being woken by my bed shaking, and then by loud rapping on my bedroom door.

A natural medium visited. After muttered discussions upstairs, she came down to say she ahd spoken to shop keeper.

He understands now that he is no longer alive and that I am the rightful resident, but he cannot move on as he cannot find his cats.

I am now about to call upon the spirit of my own beloved cat and ask her to find these cats and bring them to the shop keeper so they can rise up together.

A huge thank you to all the contributors; photographers, artists and wordsmiths.

Also a thank you in advance for all the future contributors.

Some of the pieces in the first edition below have been published or displayed previously, as the collection has built over time when there has been a drive or a need.

Some were created as gifts; to encourage or console, others when I have been moved by an image or experience. Some were commissions.

(I will have missed some links, so if you are in here send me a link and I will update.)

Romans in Steam by Flavius – Commissioned by the Roman Bath Museum in York, indeed I believe the video version is still on display in this wonderful museum.
(That’s me as a Roman that is – and that’s my Roman given name Flavius Agricola) – Photo by Dave Restless
Note; read straight across – first line being, ‘Let us ever remember as we gather’.

Cat’s Cradle – A commission for an exhibition of Fairy-tale. Fifty groups in New Earswick ‘the Garden Village’ responded. We achieved our aim of promoting the local young people’s drama group play and of creating an on-going exhibition. It still can be seen in the local library.
(If you want to become part of such an amazing theatre group as We Are Theatre let me know…)
(The full exhibition may well be a future blog upon enough requests)

And anyway, what is fairy tale?!?!

King John – Written for the York Angel Festival to celebrate the eight hundredth anniversary of York being declared a city by King John. I read this poem from an ice throne; and so did The Right Honourable Sonia Crisp Lord Mayor of York.

The Be A Gardener poem was written while working on my allotment and I created the art work to accompany it as a birthday present for my Father. Interestingly, I have just found a link to a site which has published it, no idea where they got it.

(the text is easier to read if you click ‘link’ and then ‘read more’)

Bridge of Life – this poem was created from the gathered words of Angela Jones, Tove Gulbrandsen, Georg Hansen and myself.

The Only Way – part of a series of poem cards: Adrian’s Epigrams where I sought to keep the wording as short as possible and yet still retain a poetic element. This one of course comes from personal experience.

The Seiðberendr Speaks – Part of a forthcoming story recording created in partnership with Chloe Anderson this is the planned introduction where we hear a transgender Völva gives a message to Ragnar. (Photograph taken in Gudvangen in 2011 by Leif-Arne Furevik)

Place of Safety – I made this model for my Mother and upon giving it to her discovered that it is the cottage she holds in her mind; her dream-world cottage. My Grandmother used to tell her that when things were difficult or upsetting there was a place in your mind you could go where you were safe and rested. As a result of this my Mother created a cottage just over the hill where she could go in her thoughts.

My Flowers for Mona – (A memorial I sent to be printed and displayed among the flowers for her) –
From those first days of travelling to be a Viking and in between the times between, the wish to be in touch and understand, she was there and shared and introduced, and inspired, trying always to have me feel included and invited; to be a part – Across a wild and vibrant sea. I hear the song she sent me now inside my heart.

Anoraks – More of a performance poem perhaps, so try and imagine my voice (but even more nerdy)
(words me, art work Ana Maus)

I was so affected by these guys. My words might not be quite what they were about; they just flooded out of me when I heard their drones, chants, beats and song. I cried.Folket Bartophor Nordavinden

That Pink Dress – Part of the Read All About It project for We Are Theatre where we created stories and postcards (and indeed a full free book). This was part of an impromptu sessions and I was so moved and pleased to find myself in possession of a poem by the magical Janey Stockdale.

The Jacobs Well Project – Many thanks to the wonderful Mary Passeri for allowing me to be part of this amazing project where we gathered to share with people who suffered dementia and with their loved ones. There is a whole series and I hope to share them all with you in the near future (With Mary’s final artwork). Here are a few of the poems with Mary’’s on the spot art.

From Arm of Man – I was moved by this photograph which was part of a series by Tove Gulbrandsen, who sees with the eyes we all should have.
Bjorgvin, Bergen, Norway.The Marknad

Olav – I hesitated to write this, I hesitated to publish it here; Olav just does what is needed. He doesn’t want this fuss and praise. Perhaps we should all get on with it and be just as great!
(It is worth mentioning, there was a great deal of very dark smoke, the van was small, the bus full of passengers were in great danger, the tunnel was long, rescue services hesitated; Olav didn’t)Olav

Like this:

The image below is just a start on building a word and text selection on the topic of storytelling. I would like you to send me suggestions of what to add. This could be just a picture or a piece of artwork, or an inspirational line or two on the power of story or a reaction to how my storytelling effects you.

Please send me your suggestions to add in here (I will do all the adding text to image part of the job)

Here is a replacement for the above, and the pumpkin pic will reappear with new words soon.

The many interesting things told to me while I was working at Barley Hall.

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The Nosegay Blog Too
The nosegay experience continues, and as promised in the first instalment, we will be visiting alternative realities, plus jumping hoops and drinking mud (participation is optional)

You can read minds, I am told, but only because I brought coffee at the right moment. Yes actually I can. I don’t, well, not generally, but I can. I wonder if I should. If I key in I can, and if I am asked. Then again I think perhaps I can only do it if it is team work; my spirits teaming with your spirits to your benefit.

I think that is how it works, then only if I have some sort of device; some artefact to rely on. This sort of thing gives me permission I think.

I hadn’t thought of it like this until it came up in conversation, but once I had thought of it lots of examples came flooding back to me.

“There is a pregnancy here but I cannot be quite sure who it is… it is like it is both of you.”
“How on earth did you know?” “Ah, but it is not you though is it.” “No, but I have been going through her symptoms with her as if it was me too.”

Actually that was before I had got out the usual runes and crystal ball; that is an exception though.

Often I don’t see all that much, or say all that much. When I said at a venue in South Yorkshire that I saw two men interested in her but she was unsure about one of them. The lady said, “Ooo yes, should I go back to him?”

I said I didn’t feel it was up to me to make such a decision for her but that I would look. There in the crystal ball was a firework crossing the sky. So I simply asked, “What happened on bonfire night?”
That’s all I said, for now anyway. Turns out they had been walking his dog on November the 5th on a moor in their area. He had let the dog off the lead, despite her concern and, of course, the dog took fright and, er, took flight.
He did not have time to search; his program was due to start. So he left her to it. Nearly two hours it took to find the poor terrified creature. She knocked on his door, he opened it, pulled the dog in saying, “My program’s still on” and slammed the door.

I did say more, I couldn’t help myself, “And you want to know if you should go back to him!?”

I often see things; I think it is their loved ones trying to prove they are around them. I recall describing a vintage coat that would never be worn taking up a third of the wardrobe: It was the young woman’s late grandmother’s.

Exclamations often come, “How do you know that!” – “Has he been in our house!” The latter being when I was reading tea leaves and described a shelf full of Chinese ornaments. I also at that session asked someone, “Have you been planting a tree this morning?” They had.

In the next session I recall seeing the broken umbrella a daughter had thrown in a bin before entering the hall. She turned and asked her mum if she had told me.

I have taken care to be sure no one can be identified in this blog; the following recipient will probably recognise themselves however…

With some of the things I’ve mentioned one might wonder what use they are but the following snippet was reported back to me later as being very useful.

I had seen details of a few things in the reading but promptly forgot all about it until my friend said, “You do remember how we met?”
I did I had done them a reading. I was reminded of what I had said, “Go in the marquee! – you are not supposed to but go in anyway.”
I had gone on to say they were looking out of a window of a big old building and there was a marquee in the grounds. As they were stuck for something to do they should go in. Apparently they did, it was some sort of amateur archaeology club and as my freind seemed interested they were let in.
There was a lot to be interested in and it was a long pleasant visit, so when a raffle ticket was offered it was seen as a way of making a contribution. It was a winner – the prize? A two week holiday.

At first the holiday was quiet. Everyone else staying there were in couples. Two other singles turned up though and the three of them got on great. My friend told them all about their book and it turned out these two new friends were publishers. They liked the sound of the book. They published it.

“So, thank you Adrian for your reading, I would never have gone in the marquee otherwise and I am very glad I did.

Perhaps I should do this sort of thing more often.

Footnote:
I’ve not gone into details here of the woman who changed her sexual preferences (in a sudden realisation of love) during the course of my reading but let’s just say that the woman she had arrived with thanked me as they left with a backwards glance and a very big smile on her face and both thumbs up in the air.